


What the Dark Knows

by RawrLeaf



Category: Wentworth (TV)
Genre: F/F, Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-15
Updated: 2021-03-15
Packaged: 2021-03-23 02:40:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 713
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30048672
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RawrLeaf/pseuds/RawrLeaf
Summary: Moments in the night.
Relationships: Vera Bennett/Joan Ferguson
Kudos: 18





	What the Dark Knows

Eyes blinking open, she grumbles as she glances at the clock on her night table. Two-thirty in the middle of the night. The world of dreams made whole and memories lost to time. She feels movement and a small smile tips her lips into a soft curl. This, she can hold onto. She rolls to her side and lifts up onto her elbow, head resting in her palm as she looks at her lover. _How many nights have we done this?_ She wonders in silence. 

Slowly, with barely a touch, she ghosts the fingertips of her free hand down the bare back next to her, goosebumps skating across skin she knows, loves, _craves_. She hums to herself, lost in the memories of her hands sliding up that back, spine curling under pressure, pleasure erupting under her fingers as her lover flies among the stars. They’ve spent months together in the dark, but only a few weeks together in the light. 

Joan cracks her eyes, suppressing a shiver as her lover’s fingers continue their path up and down her back, over ribs, and into the valley of her spine. She’s witnessed her lover lost in thought countless times before, but never like this, never in the darkest moments between what was and what could be. Watching as the woman next to her begins to follow the path of her fingers trace in endless loops with her eyes, she mentally shakes her brain awake, wanting to commit this moment to memory. _Memory...what a fleeting thing…_

Vera feels the twitch, probably before Joan even realizes her muscles have betrayed her, and lifts her gaze up to meet eyes she can see are alert. Pausing her movements, she lays her hand flat and skates it across skin marked with history and pain until it curls around a hip, leg lifting to bring her closer to her love as she drops to the pillow, lips coming to rest lightly against the closest shoulder. 

Using her position, Joan twists her wrist, palm now up, and pulls it out from under herself to brush her fingers against Vera’s cheek. The quiet darkness has been their haven for what feels like an eternity, but has been only seconds in the history of time. It is in these moments, only stolen independently, that Joan has come to finally understand what memory could never teach. Loving isn’t a one-act. Loving someone wasn’t supposed to feel like the cracks of her heart, the pain in her memories, could ever be erased, healed, turned over like soil in a garden, forever able to be renewed so long as someone cared enough to tend it, to have a wish for life and beauty to grow under their patient care. 

Vera presses a firm kiss to the shoulder under her lips, soft smile pressing her cheek into the fingers that caress her skin. There have been moments, lost to the dark, whispers only her ears ever hear, that remind her she doesn’t deserve this, has never been taught what this kind of love, care, _desire_ is, means. In this moment puzzle pieces collide in her heart, slotting together for the first time in her life. _This is what memories are for._

Joan feels something shift in her lover and begins to turn, one muscle at a time flicking into action so as not to startle, not to interrupt the woman curled around her. Finally on her side, she pulls the leg still over hers higher, heel coming to rest behind her knee as she slides one arm under a slim neck to scoop the smaller woman closer. They’ve done this a hundred times, skin to skin, breathing in sync, eyes locked as entire lives are laid bare where whispers never escape. 

Vera’s eyes flicker, bright blue turning to midnight. She sees the response in Joan’s, fascinated once again by the light that comes out of the dark, tiny flecks of chestnut glittering back at her. _This_ , she thinks, _is what the sages could have never dreamed. What bards could only hope to become. What memory had failed to record as the stars soared out of nothing into something no single human has ever been able to truly comprehend. When you stop looking, something finally looks back._

**Author's Note:**

> I read a book. I have feelings. Brain decided this was something to go with those.
> 
> Thank you for reading!


End file.
